The Thought That Counts
by Jessica Simpson-Bourget
Summary: A possibly A/U version of unseen events taking place in Diane's apartment on December 25, 1983. A small slice of Sam and Diane's first Christmas together, as suggested by "A Ditch In Time".


Diane held the roughly-wrapped package in her lap, consciously telling herself to slow down and not rip the paper off immediately. She was very excited, as she always was at Christmas time, but moreso this year because Sam was a part of it. He looked especially handsome tonight with the scarf she'd made draped around his neck- the colorist was right about that shade of blue. It took all of her self-control to refrain from giddily tearing into the present. Instead she took a moment to smile at him and admire his efforts at presentation.

"Sam, you wrapped it and everything! And look, a ribbon! Did you curl it yourself?"

"Why, yes I did," he replied proudly. It had taken him about a half hour to cover the box in the glossy red paper and then the ribbon thing was another ten minutes and a cut from the scissors, but she was worth it and then some.

Diane gently removed the tape from the paper and Sam laughed inwardly. In that moment, she reminded him of his mother, acting as though she were going to squirrel the paper away for an upcoming wrapping paper shortage or something. Of course he'd never tell her that and risk spoiling the mood. Still, it was a nice feeling conjured by a happy memory.

When she saw the box of steak knives, she felt a twinge of disappointment. She'd hoped for something more intimate. Maybe a bottle of perfume or a book. Something to show he'd been thinking of her when he chose it.

She'd always hoped for something from someone- _anyone_- that showed they understood her at all. All of her life she'd been given things. Expensive, lovely things, but things that showed no evidence of a relationship with her, much less expressed any love for her, and which more often than not left her feeling even lonelier than she did before opening them. As much as she poured her heart and soul into selecting the perfect gift for everyone from her mother to the mailman, she was never afforded the same care.

In fact, Sam _had_ been thinking of her. The truth was, he never knew what to get women for a gift. He was rarely in a relationship long enough to require that skill, and the few times he had been, the recipient had been less than thrilled. It seemed his taste had yet to line up with any woman's except one: His mother loved the steak knives he bought her a few years back. She'd ooh-ed and ahh-ed over them like he'd given her the Hope Diamond. He never forgot how good it felt to make her so happy with a gift, and not wanting to screw up with Diane, went for what he thought was a surefire hit. But there was that look. That flicker of disappointment that passed over her face. It was unmistakeable.

"Wow, Sam." she began uncertainly.

"Um…" He wanted to fix things somehow, but was at a complete loss for words.

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't like them," he answered matter of factly.

"No! No, I do!" she insisted, trying to save the moment.

Sam shook his head. The last thing he wanted to hear from her was false gratitude or reassurance.

"No, you don't. I don't know why I-"

Diane could see he was crushed by her lackluster reaction and felt terrible. She had to salvage the night, the holiday, his feelings somehow.

"Sam, don't be silly. They're great! I guess I'm just a little surprised."

"I'll take 'em back," he replied curtly, reaching for the box.

"Don't you dare! I needed a good set of knives, and these are really nice. You were very thoughtful to notice."

"Come on, Diane, you don't have to say that. I know you hate them. I saw the look on your face."

"Sam, stop. I don't hate them. I _like_ them. The look you saw was just me reacting without thinking. You know I do that sometimes, now don't you do it too. I think I was expecting something a little more... personal. I don't know, maybe more romantic. But these are great. _Really_." She touched him arm for emphasis. "I don't need any big romantic gestures from you. You give me romance every day."

Sam saw that she meant what she said, and smiled self-consciously.

"Okay, if you say so."

"I say so," she beamed.

Just then Diane felt something fall at her feet. An envelope. How had she missed that in all of her careful unwrapping?

"Oh yeah…" Sam picked up the envelope and handed it to her. "There's this too. It's just a card."

"A card too? Thank you, Sam." A part of her feared what she might read inside, but nevertheless, she gingerly tore it open.

The image on the front was of a lovely green wreath, entwined with a red ribbon that came together in a heart-shaped bow. The printed text above it read "For Someone Special". So far so good.

She opened the card and saw a handwritten note on the left hand side. Ignoring the prosaic pre-printed words on the right, she read:

"Dear Diane,

Merry Christmas, sweetheart.

I thought these would be good for all of those wonderful dinners you make me. I thank you for them and for everything else you've done for me. I hope I can return the favor sometime if you'll let me.

I look forward to many more nights across the dining room table from you.

With all my love,

Sam"

Diane's eyes welled up with tears of happiness. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. Suddenly the steak knives were the most incredibly romantic gift she'd ever gotten. Sam breathed a sigh of relief and laughed into her hair. Her happiness was the best Christmas present he ever received. At last, all was calm. All was bright. Joy to the world.


End file.
